Tuesday, October 03, 2006

Campfire

Kurt placed his hand on the back of Amina’s. His touch created a quick wave of pleasure that washed through her arm and into her heart. “What are you thinking about, Amina?” he said in a soft voice.

Amina continued to stare into the random kaleidoscope of images created by the campfire. Flames flickered to cast a dance of shadows across their faces. She sipped wine from a clay mug filled with a sweet-red poured an hour or more ago. Kurt tossed small twigs into the fire---the fragments of wood landed in the flames then flared like the strike of a match. Burning chunks of wood snapped and popped, spewing tiny geysers of sparks only to extinguish at the fire’s perimeter.

“Nothing much, “she lied. “I’m just watching the fire and letting its images play in my mind.”

Amina was trying to understand awareness that she would have great emotional difficulty when it became time to kill this man. Kurt was good, a gentle man. In the short ten days she had known him, she had become more than fond of him.

But, her mission was clear. There could be no turning back and the current circumstances with Kurt had provided for the perfect opportunity. The pickup truck, the small camper---they would give excellent disguise for her mission. She would be able to travel into the heart of the city without suspicion. In the interim, though, there was still this night and two more before her sacrifice.

Amina rolled her hand under his, palm to palm. “Funny you would say that,” she said. “Here we are, deep in a forest on foreign soil to me, gazing into this little fire. And my home, so far away across an ocean.”

A nearly burned through log rolled in the fire’s bed. Another shower of sparks rose and fell. The sounds of the shifting fire joined with the sounds of the night. She gave a gentle squeeze of his hand

Silent of conversation, their independent thoughts drifted away from the images of fire---hers to the bonds of her duty. Yes, on the third day she would kill him, she thought, then she would begin the journey to fulfill her commitment to God.

She would love him though…until then. Love him hard for now. Maybe God might allow her to love him for eternity. She smiled at the thought and from the warmth of the small fire on her face.

EIJ, Nice, man. Nice. The way the story turned quickly but gently. "Turned" isn't the right word -but you know what I mean. It's like you managed to shatter a crystal punch bowl but it didn't make a sound.

I write (very poorly) as a hobby, mostly short-shorts and poetry. Maybe someday I will uncork one like that -just one. Nicely done. -JTC